


Memento (co-authored with Emily Waters)

by SoftObsidian74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some die to remember, some die to forget</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is told backwards like the movie for which it is named.

  
**Part 5: Epilogue**  
by EmilyWaters

 

_**Time Index 0**_

 

He would not have cared if it was him.

But it was not. It never was him. He was the fucking boy-who-lived. The boy-who-should-have-died-but-didn't. 

He stood and watched numbly as Oliver and Neville pulled out another body from the ruins. He should have ran towards him, he should have knelt in front of the boy's broken form and wept, but instead he simply stared blankly, regarding Colin Creevey's body with cold detachment. The young face was pale, but his lips still bore a triumphant smile. And his rigid hands were still clenching that god-damned camera of his. 

Harry stood above him and stared. He was alive. Colin was dead. 

My fault, Harry thought. And this time, it really was. Not like with Sirius, not like with Cedric, not like with Snape. Those things were... ambiguous. He could have weaseled out of guilt over those, more or less easily. But this... This was all his fault. He should have known better, but he didn't. He was too arrogant, too conceited, too careless, too thoughtless. He didn't take the warnings seriously, and he didn't take any action to help this boy, two years his junior, to rescue him from himself. 

Instead, Harry failed him – no, worse, betrayed him, and now they had this obscene tie connecting them. Death should have severed it, had they not both died? 

But the depraved link was still there, strong as ever, a bond more powerful, and more permanent than the killing curse. 

Frozen in his steps, Harry continued to gaze at Colin's body speechlessly. 

When he finally found his voice, Harry said hoarsely: “He looks so small.” 

How someone so small could have done all that? Harry was stronger, bigger, a more powerful wizard, a more skilled duelist. He should have stopped him... stopped it. But he didn't. Maybe somehow, deep down, Harry wanted it to happen? He shuddered at the thought.

“Sorry, mate,” Oliver said tiredly. “You know - you were very special to him.” 

“Yeah...” Harry muttered bitterly. “I know.” 

He walked towards the body, barely feeling his own legs. He knelt, and pulled the camera out of his hands. 

“I should probably take that,” Neville said. “Give it to his parents...” 

“No!” Harry snapped angrily, eliciting a startled reaction from both Oliver and Neville. “I mean.. not yet,” Harry added. “I want to see them for myself first... you know? The pictures...” 

I really am scum, Harry thought. Ready to fight my friends over the pictures of myself – as if any of it matters now... But still, he held Colin's camera in an iron grip, not intending to release it. 

“Sure, mate,” Oliver said quietly. “No problem. You all right?”

“Fine,” Harry said reassuringly, barely able to keep his voice from shaking. “Fine.” 

Neville stared at him dubiously. “You sure? You just came back from the dead.” 

Harry shrugged. “We can talk about it later. I want to be alone now.” 

They let him be, and he retreated to his own quarters. It took him several hours of reading to figure out how to develop pictures, and he spent the rest of the evening working on just that – immersing the negatives in the potions he had lifted from Colin's dorm room while nobody was looking. Finally, the photographs emerged, and Harry stared at them – all of them. The photograph from the final battle – the photographs from a couple of weeks ago... and then, those. Harry winced, and stuffed those far away in his desk, hiding them in his journal. He should destroy them, he thought – but for some reason, he was not ready to do that just yet. 

He shoved the journal deep inside the desk, and not a moment too soon, as Hermione and Ron entered the room, and sat on his bed uninvited. 

“Talk,” Ron demanded. 

“Go away,” Harry said tiredly.

“Harry,” Hermione said. “I'm sorry – about Colin.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said impassively. “Thanks, I think.” 

“I'm sorry about what I said,” Hermione continued softly but determinedly. “I never meant to hurt your feelings – and, well, you realize that you shouldn't blame yourself for his death, don't you?”

Harry shrugged indifferently. 

“Harry... what's going on?” Ron demanded. “You aren't yourself. I haven't seen you like this since... well, actually I have never seen you like this. Even when your godfather was killed, you were... I don't know. Different.” 

“I know,” Harry said. “This is different though.” 

“How?” Hermione demanded. “The way I see it, it's almost exactly the same. Colin snuck into the school and rushed into danger, absolutely recklessly, without any regard for himself. Nobody could have stopped him.” 

Harry smiled bitterly. “You don't know the half of it.” 

“Then tell us,” Ron offered.. 

Harry sighed and looked through the few photographs that were still scattered on the desk. 

“They say that a good photographer can capture your soul with a good shot,” Harry murmured. “Think it's true?” 

“I'm sure of it,” Hermione said peacefully, and Harry laughed at her attempt to be reassuring. 

He slid the last photograph across the desk towards them. It was him, the last picture that Colin ever took with his camera, before a Death Eater struck the young photographer with the deadly curse. Cradled in Hagrid's arms, Harry was an image of perfect death, his eyes tightly shut, his face almost grey.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione murmured. “You were the last one on his camera. He died taking that picture of you – but you realize, it's not your fault...” 

“Of course it is,” Harry said tiredly. “I should have listened to you both. But I didn't. I never listen to anyone. And now ... it's my fault. All of it.”

“All of what?” Hermione demanded. “Was there something else?” 

Harry nodded speechlessly. 

“Tell us,” Ron offered. 

“I can't,” Harry whispered. “It's too much... what I have done... Ron... Hermione... You don't understand. I _really_ am the reason he's dead. You have no idea what I have done, what I have allowed to happen...If I tell you, you will never speak to me again.” 

Hermione came up to him and threw her arms around him.

“Harry,” she whispered. “That's not true. Whatever you've done – we'll never leave you. All right?” 

“You don't even know what it is,” Harry said bitterly. 

“No,” she conceded. “But ... look, Harry... in times of war, people are under tremendous stress. Even the best soldiers do things they normally wouldn't do. Whatever happened, whatever you've done, we can help you figure it out. I promise.” 

Harry shook his head, not believing it for a moment. 

But the silence that hung between them became unbearable – and Harry decided, perhaps, he should tell them. They might never speak to him again – they might recoil in horror and run from him – but they still deserved to know. They deserved to know that they were right, right about everything, and he was wrong. 

“All right,” he said finally. “All in all, this is the absolute worst thing I have ever done in my life.”


	2. Apprehension

  
**Part 4: Apprehension**  
by SoftObsidian74

_Time Index 5 hours_  


He just had to come back. Despite the desperate pleas of his mother and brother to stay put, despite all of the warning signs that death could befall any of them at any moment.

He wasn’t coming back to fight; he was coming back for Harry. 

Just one more picture. Who was he kidding? He could never take just one. A few would do. He couldn’t miss Harry’s moment of glory. Just the thought of not being there to see it, to immortalize it with his camera, made him queasy with regret.

This was the moment Harry had been born for; this was what made him so special, so beautiful, so precious. Whether he died fighting or lived victoriously after conquering the Dark Lord, this is who he was: a warrior, a soldier, a hero. 

His hero.

And he would be damned if anyone would keep him from capturing the last few minutes of his hero’s final battle. This was the stuff legends were made of, and he alone, with his camera in tow, would be the record keeper.

And so he ran, he ran hard, and as effortlessly as any Quidditch athlete. He could hear his mother and brother screaming for him to come back, but their voices grew faint and more meaningless the closer he got to the castle.

They didn’t understand; no one could ever understand. Only he understood what it all meant. He was the only one who understood Harry and what Harry meant to him. 

Harry himself had only just begun to understand, he was sure of that. 

As he ran, flashes of his idol’s body writhing against his, his touch igniting his whole being as he fell into blind passion, appeared in his mind like the moving photographs he kissed each night before going to bed. 

He could remember the taste of Harry’s sweat drenched body as he bit into him and clawed at his back like it had only just happened moments before. He could remember the shock, the struggle, the protests, and yielding to lust and savoring the taste of him in spite of it all. 

He was closer now, and he could hear the shouting, the screaming, the crying, and the sound of spells rebounding off of ancient brick. He could hear the dull thud of bodies falling from up high and the muffled crack of them being trampled below. But none of those bodies mattered. His eyes were intent and focused, searching for only one. 

He knew his frame well: unforgivably hidden taut, lean muscles, wonderfully connected to a frame of average height, crowned by a mass of black, unruly hair that adorned the face of a god with the most beautiful green eyes. Colin's eyes scanned past the dead and wounded, searching for that frame. 

As he searched, another vision of two bodies wrestling against each other crept into his mind. One of them was haunted and numb with terror, the other passionate and furious. The memory of bound wrists twisting in their restraints and traces of blood on clammy white flesh swirled in his head. Instead of the people that lay all around him, the images of lips moving in protest and a reluctant erection vulnerable to the will of a hungry mouth about to devour it fully, danced in his head. 

He had to focus. 

He clutched his camera with shaky hands; now was no time to twitch, it would ruin the shot. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't the absurdness of being this close to a slew of Death Eaters, or the fear that his hero might die. 

No, he was nervous because this picture had to be just right. This photograph wouldn’t be like the pictures he took before. He had always had plenty of time to figure out which angle he would shoot Harry from, which lighting suited him best, which backdrop he wanted, and he always knew he could come back for more.

But now, there would be only one or two opportunities to capture the raw energy and essence that encapsulated the great Harry Potter. 

He couldn’t mess it up.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” he yelled, pushing through the crowd, now gathered in front of the castle looking out across the great expansive lawn. He could see Death Eaters, a crowd of them, and the half-giant, Hagrid, who was carrying a body.

 _‘No… no… NO!’_ his mind screamed. _‘I’ve missed it, I can’t miss it. If only I could get just a little closer.’_

He pushed through until he came to a clearing that offered more of a view, and then another boy about his age, with blood running down the side of his head, ran past him just as an explosion rang out near his right ear. 

That was close. 

He moved closer still to where another crowd was growing thick. Too thick. He couldn’t see a damn thing. He jumped up and down and around the tall bodies crowding in for safety all around him. 

He had to see what was going on. If only he wasn’t so bloody short! 

_‘Oh, damn it all to hell’,_ he thought as he pushed through two huge boys, half tripping as he tried to disentangle himself and break into a run.

“Hey, son, you can’t go out there! Those are Death Eaters, get back here!” some professor called.

“Colin! Colin! What are you doing?!” he heard the voice of a housemate scream.

“Oh Merlin, he’s... he’s going out there alone, somebody do something!”

As he drew closer, his vision of Harry became clear. He was being carried reverently by the half-giant, just as a hero ought. His Savior… their Savior, and he would be the only one to get it on film. 

Just a little closer...

It would make the shot perfect. He had to get the blush on his cheek, he had to see if he looked defeated in death or if his face held the determined fierceness he had sported in life. 

He stopped abruptly in his tracks, frowning as the horrifying sight before him became apparent: Harry’s eyes were closed. 

Oh, how he loved to stare into those eyes. It was what he did most often when he went to his Harry shrine, which was filled with all of the photographs he had collected over the years.

And now that he had seen those eyes in passion, they were more precious than ever.

He decided that ultimately, it didn’t matter. It was still a picture worth taking. He steadied his hands and raised his camera as he continued to walk forward. 

He couldn’t get a clear shot. If only the Dark Lord would get out of the way…

He huffed and walked hastily to the side. As his camera flashed brightly, capturing the photograph he had been waiting his whole life to take, another flash surged towards him. 

Instead of white light, it was green, and Colin hit the ground, clutching his camera with a star-struck look frozen on his face.


	3. Resignation

  
**Part 3: Resignation**  
by EmilyWaters

 

**Time Index: 0 – Nine Hours**   


Harry walked through the Forbidden Forest. He walked on instinct alone, trusting it to take him to Voldemort's encampment. At least one good thing had come out of viewing Snape's memories in the Pensieve: the revelation that Harry had to die. It was about fucking time, too.

 _So much blood,_ he thought. 

The stench of blood was still clinging to him, along with the stench of venom and the mildew that had been a prominent feature of the Shrieking Shack. 

A wave of nausea reached his throat. Snape was dead. Oh, god—dead, Snape—was dead, dead because of him? The smell of Snape's blood was clinging to him, was on his hands, on his skin, in his nostrils. 

_Well, at least it wasn't Colin's—_

Harry cut off that line of thinking instantly by falling on his hands and knees and retching violently, expelling the contents of his stomach to the ground. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered bitterly, speaking into the ground beneath him. “Oh—god—Hermione—you were right, I am sorry—fuck—what have I done, how could I have let it go this far, get so bad?” His entire body shook as wretched memories flooded him. He could have spent hours standing like this, half-kneeling, half-crawling, forcing himself to breathe, trying to gather the last shreds of his sanity. But he had no time for that. 

He had to keep walking. He pulled himself together and continued on his way. As he walked, the little tree branches cracked, breaking under his feet, and the exposed roots of the trees seemed all too eager to trip him. He continued walking deeper and deeper into the forest, leaving the rest of his life behind. 

He had never been so ashamed of himself. Hermione's words rang in his ears:

_“Harry, Colin's infatuation with you isn't healthy. You need to be on guard for that—you need to look after him, in a manner of speaking. He's younger, he's not well, he's not thinking clearly... and ... you need to be the responsible one. The strong one. Harry, are you even listening to me?”_

_Listening?_ Harry could have laughed. He never listened to anyone. He remembered his own fury and rage that night, he remembered how much he had hated that little brat, how much he had wanted to rip his throat out and hurt him, just hurt him, and then, in spite of his hate, in spite of his rage, in spite of his revulsion for the little sick bastard, Harry's own desire had ended up awakening, building and then erupting in an involuntary explosion of mindless, guilty, purely physical pleasure. 

Yet Harry still hated him, more than ever. 

He hated the fact that the imbecile's scent continued to cling to him, to his clothes, to his hands, to his thighs, to his motherfucking lightning bolt scar. No matter how much he had showered after that, no matter how much he scrubbed himself clean, nothing would ever be able to remove that smell. Harry was certain that he would always smell like that filthy, wretched boy's come, his saliva, his sweat, his piss—

Harry covered his mouth with his hand, fighting down another wave of nausea. Now was not not a good time to come apart, he reminded himself sternly. It was time to die. 

His hand clenched in the pocket, as he pulled out the golden snitch. The inscription on it said, “I open at the close.” He opened it, and saw the small artifact that was hidden within—the Resurrection Stone. Harry smiled bitterly. He supposed he could—but what would be the point of it? Could he really face his parents after that? Or his godfather? Harry shuddered at the thought. 

Without hesitation, he tossed the Resurrection Stone away. It fell on the ground someplace nearby. Let a centaur's hoof push it into the ground, he thought. Let it be lost forever. 

He continued to walk, and the life that he had lived was becoming more and more distant. He thought of Hermione and Ron and how they were right, right about him, right about everything... He thought about Ginny, but no longer remembered what it felt like to kiss her and feel her lips on his, kissing him back the way she used to. The only thing he remembered was— _that._

_When that was over, Harry was the first to dress. His hands shook only slightly as he gathered his clothing angrily and proceeded to dress himself. At the foot of the bed, Colin sat, still naked, with traces of blood on his thighs._

_“Harry,” Colin asked plaintively. “What just happened?”_

_“You know full well what just happened, Creevey.”_

_“I think ... maybe I need to go to the Hospital Wing or something,” Colin said uncertainly._

_Harry cast him a disdainful glare. For others to know about this... “No, you don't need to go to the Hospital Wing. Listen to me, you cowardly little bitch... you don't need sickbay. You deal with it like a man. You aren't the only one who's got problems.”_

_Colin Creevey's expression changed to slightly more hopeful. “Tell me we are okay, Harry?” he asked, his eyes seeking out the approval of his idol. God, how Harry hated that look of his._

_“Yeah, sure, we are okay.”_

_Colin sniffled quietly. “Thank you, Harry,” he said meekly._

_Harry ripped his hand out of Colin's._

_“Listen to me,” Harry said with cold fury in his voice. “You stay away from me, you stupid little shit, and don't you fucking dare to squawk about this to anyone. I don't need this kind of hassle; I've got the war to think about right now.”_

_Colin nodded furiously, looking almost relieved. “All right, Harry,” he said. “I won't ... won't tell anyone. I swear. Harry, you are everything to me.”_

_Harry stared at him with revulsion, leaving before he could do something stupid and add something else to his list of things to regret._

Harry snapped out of the daze and shook his head defiantly. None of it mattered. Not anymore. He was about to die. He bit his lip and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Ahead of him, he saw Voldemort's encampment. It was Aragog's old dwelling, taken over by the Death Eaters after they had forced the ancient creature out of his home. Still covered by his Cloak, Harry continued to advance. 

“He's not coming.” He heard the familiar, deep voice of Lucius Malfoy. 

“He will come,” Voldemort replied with absolute confidence.

It was time.

Harry shed the cloak and stepped forward, bringing himself to stand before his enemy. The yellow, reptilian eyes glowed dangerously, piercing the twilight. 

“I don't understand,” Narcissa murmured. “Why did he come?”

Harry smiled bitterly and stood perfectly still. 

_Because this is where I belong,_ he would have said, if he thought they needed his response. 

Because this is where he wanted to belong: on the unforgiving frozen ground of the forest, under the feet of the enemies, in the darkness that would have no faces of friends, no arms of family to welcome him, no mentors to absolve him of guilt or wipe out his shame. 

When the green light emerged from Voldemort's wand, there was no pain. There was only a memory of another flash of light, just like that, and the desperate hope that there would be no afterlife, just a dreamless, dark void for all eternity and longer.


	4. Transgression

  
**Part 2: Transgression**  
by SoftObsidian74

    
**_Time Index 96 Hours_**   
  


He could hear his own breathing. He had to calm down. He had spent too long planning this… he knew Harry would eventually come back, but he hadn’t known when. He had only known that when he did, he had to be ready for him. 

When Neville sent the signal out, all of the Gryffindors knew immediately that Harry had come home. There was an audible buzz throughout, and one by one, they made their way down to the hidden tunnel where he, Ron, and Hermione had sneaked back in.

They all gathered around them with eagerness, hope, and a thirst for more information about what was going on ‘out there’. They had been trapped in Hogwarts, not knowing sometimes whether he was alive or dead. 

But Colin knew. Harry was here for a purpose after all, and his purpose hadn’t arrived yet. 

When he caught sight of his hero’s wild black hair amidst the group crowding in on him, he pushed his way through.

“Harry, Harry…”

To his annoyance, his ever-present redhead bodyguard pushed him back. 

“Get back, Colin, not now,” Ron said. 

It was time to act. It was now or never. 

“Harry, I need to talk to you!”

“Colin, another time, perhaps,” Harry said in annoyance.

“No! It can’t wait!” Colin said, grabbing Harry’s arm and pulling him over as he reached up on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “It’s about You-Know-Who; it could affect the outcome of the war!”

To his delight, Harry drew back in shock and nodded his head quickly. Colin smiled nervously and grabbed Harry’s hand, leading him back to the lower dungeons. 

He brought him into a room that he had scouted out weeks before. It was small, musty, and well hidden in the dark shadows of the dungeon. He had already Transfigured an old moldy couch into a bed that lay in the center. 

He sat down on it, wringing his hands for a moment before going into his robes and pulling out a flask of liquor. He took a deep breath and then brought it up to his lips. 

“Colin, where did you get that?” Harry asked. 

"Trust me, Harry, you are gonna need a drink for what I’m about to tell you," Colin said, gripping the flask with shaky hands as he tried to bring it up to his mouth once more.

This time, when he tried to take a sip his hands were shaking so bad that he spilled a fair amount on his robes before giving up and looking up at Harry with an embarrassed smile. 

He offered the flask to Harry awkwardly. 

Harry accepted it and took a small sip to appease him, just like Colin knew he would.

Harry looked at him with concern. “Look, just come out with it… we don’t have much time,” he urged.

Colin nodded his head and took a deep breath. "I need another drink. This is so fucked, Harry..."

“Well… if it helps, here,” Harry said, handing it back to Colin. 

"Geez, Harry, I never thought..." He paused, putting the flask up to his mouth and then handing it back to Harry.

He watched with veiled anticipation as Harry took another drink, this one more substantial.

“Well, what is it you have tell—Colin… what is this?” Harry asked, his eyes going glassy.

“Don’t worry, Harry, it’s not gonna kill you,” Colin said, trying to quell the mounting excitement from watching his plan unfold before him.

“Colin…what have you done?” Harry whispered to himself as he tried to stand up. He stumbled, and when he fainted, Colin’s heart skipped a beat as his hero fell into his arms.

He was heavier than Colin thought. 

Of course he would be; heroes didn’t have to show off their brawn, it was there, hidden under his modesty and school robes… but not for long. 

He cast a Silencing Charm on the door and then quickly got undressed. His cock was already growing hard as he stripped off Harry’s clothing. He made quick work of saying an Incarcerous Spell, binding Harry’s arms above his head to the headboard. 

Harry woke up with a start, jerking against the ropes holding his wrists above him and trying to pull at the bonds around his ankles.

“Colin…what the—”

“Been waiting for a long time for this, Harry,” Colin breathed, sweat running from his temple as he leaned over Harry, straddling him.

He was holding a camera in one hand and running his other hand down Harry's arms. “Finally… I’m gonna get some real good shots,” he said as he brought the camera up to take a picture.

Click, flash it went, causing Harry to blink instinctively.

“Colin, what the hell? Get the fuck off of me; let me go!”

“What do you mean? I know you want this, Harry,” he whispered, licking his lips and running his hands over Harry’s hair as if he were petting a prize mare.

Harry shook his head hard, trying to knock his hand away. “What the fuck are you talking about, you little shit! You’re mental! Now let me out, or you’re gonna regret it!”

Colin shook his head absently, grinning, a long piece of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. “It was too easy… to get you alone… to get you to drink what I gave you…” he said, sliding his hand over Harry's elbow and down his tricep, stroking the soft flesh there as if it were rare silk.

“You’re the Savior, and you let me trap you… just like that. You want this… I know you do. You need it, just like me,” he said, panting as his hands moved down over Harry’s chest, staring at exposed skin in fascination. 

Harry looked back up at him with fearful eyes. “Please, Colin… don’t do this… you’re sick, you need help. I can help you,” he pleaded.

Colin’s dazed star-struck expression quickly turned into an angry scowl. 

“Sick? I’m trying to show you how much I love you, and you call me sick?” 

“Well, look at you, you’ve fucking drugged and kidnapped me… you’re not well! Now untie me, and I might forget this ever happened!”

Colin stared down at him disbelieving. “Oh, no no, Harry, you owe me.”

“Owe you? You’re mental! I don’t owe you anything!”

Colin chuckled as he palmed the flesh of Harry’s chest. “This is why it’s so important that I’ve got you alone. You can’t turn me down now. I finally get you all to myself.” 

He ground himself into Harry as he continued to speak, moving in to hover just over Harry’s mouth. 

“You need this… you don’t even know it. You’ve got to be reminded. You’re a hero, Harry. You got fans… and you owe them,” he whispered, kissing Harry’s chest even as Harry began to struggle harder in his bonds. “We stuck by you when everyone doubted you. We believed in you when they said you were a liar.” 

“Colin, please!”

“I stood up for you, Harry. And what have you done for me?” he asked, straightening up and staring down at Harry in contempt. 

“You pushed me away… you laugh… you roll your eyes when I ask for a picture. I just want a FUCKING PICTURE! Is that too much to ask?! Huh?!!!” he yelled viciously. 

Harry stilled as Colin’s contorted face shifted into a smile once more. “I need to remind you… that you need to be thanking me. You owe me, Harry. Especially me.” 

Harry stared back up at him with bewildered eyes. 

“Oh… I like that… Is that shock? Not your usual look. Hold that expression for me, Harry.” 

Click. Flash.

“That’s it… now, I want you to give me fear,” he said as he pulled out a long hunting knife. Harry’s eyes went wide. 

The expression on Harry’s face wasn’t enough, though; he wanted more. And so he found himself moving the knife down Harry’s chest and then his abdomen, until he was tracing it around his cock and pressing it against his balls.

Harry screamed. 

It was a sound like nothing Colin had ever heard, and he found his eyes rolling into the back into his head as he tried to savor it and bask in the power of making Harry Potter scream.

He knew he’d never feel power like this again. He tried to take an auditory picture so he could play it over in his mind later. When Harry stopped screaming and began begging, he opened his eyes once more to stare into the frantic red mouth beneath him. 

He longed to taste it, probe it, possess it, but he knew better. Harry was a fighter, and he’d probably bite him. He’d have to take pleasure where he could. He moved down Harry’s waist until he was straddling his thighs. Harry shook his head in desperation. 

“Colin, listen… I’m sorry, okay, for…for everything,” Harry begged.

“Apology accepted,” Colin said, beaming at him as he pressed the knife harder against Harry, threatening to cut his sac open.

“Now you can spend the rest of our time making it up to me,” he whispered. 

Harry’s body went rigid as he braced himself for pain, which made Colin look up and stare in excitement. 

“Oh! Oh! Hold it… hold it… this one is going to be priceless. Your face is the picture of fear right now,” he said, bringing his camera up to his face to take the shot. 

The fear on Harry’s face disappeared, replaced by forced stoicism.

“Harry!” Colin whined in disappointment. “You lost the shot,” he said, repositioning the knife once more. 

Harry stared back at him, a look of terror frozen on his face. 

“Yes! There it goes, perfect fear…”

Click. Flash. 

“Now, Harry, I want you to give me pain, can you do that for me?” he asked as he raised the knife higher, placing it against Harry’s chest. He let it slide down slowly, pressing harder as he went until a faint red line that turned into little droplets of blood began to grow in its path.

Colin gasped in excitement. “I can't believe it... you're bleeding... just for me,” he said as he dipped his finger in the pooling blood and brought it to his lips, enjoying the taste.

“You taste so good, Harry,” he said, smearing his hand in it and using it to lubricate Harry’s flaccid cock. 

When he heard Harry groan reluctantly and felt him harden in his hand, he almost squealed with delight. 

Harry turned his head in shame as his cock grew harder in spite of the situation. Colin didn’t waste one moment, he knew he didn’t have long; they could be interrupted at any moment. He took his free hand and spread himself over Harry’s hard length and began to grind himself over it. 

A moan left him as he felt his idol’s head poking at his virgin hole. This was no time for fear, and so he pushed himself down, determined to feel Harry inside of him. 

“No... no... please, Colin,” Harry moaned. Colin closed his eyes and let his body swallow the hard member... bathing in the delicious feeling of Harry's reluctant arousal. He was succumbing... how could he not? This was his cock. Underneath him, Harry opened his eyes and turned his head away, sobbing, even as his hips moved involuntarily to create more friction with Colin's gyration.

Colin felt something inside of him rip. It burned; he could feel warm wetness seeping from a wound deep within him as he forced himself further down Harry's length. It hurt. The burning increased, but that didn't matter. He'd burn for him... anything for him.

"Oh Harry, you are just fighting for a show, aren't you? Look how hard you are... yes... can feel you in my arse... you’ve wanted to fuck me so long, didn't you? Make me your bitch... yes, Harry," Colin said in short breaths as he rode Harry harder in spite of the pain. 

His whole body went rigid when he felt Harry’s release empty inside of him, lighting the wound within on fire once more. And then he was coming, harder than he had ever had during his frequent wank sessions to his favorite pictures of Harry. 

He tried to savor the moment, and then when the euphoria of the climax began to subside, Colin stood up, looking down at Harry’s shamed face. 

“You’re mine, Harry, wherever you go, I’ll always have a piece of you now.”

Harry gritted his teeth, still pulling at the restraints binding him, tears coming from his eyes, his cheeks burning with humiliation from the force of his orgasm. 

Colin took one more picture and then swung the camera over his shoulder, spreading his legs on either side of Harry. He grabbed his cock, and looked down at it in deep concentration for a few moments. His flagging erection was twitching in his hand as he held it out over Harry. 

“What are you doing now, you little freak?” Harry asked in a furious hushed tone.

“You’ve given me every shot I’ve ever wanted tonight… and now I want to give you something to remember me by,” he said as a few drops of urine fell onto Harry’s chest. 

It felt good, seeing something so personal leaving his body and landing on Harry’s perfect skin. It seemed right. It was the way animals claimed what was theirs… and this was no different. Harry was his, and now he knew it as well. 

This would be the final act to seal their bond before Harry faced the Dark Lord. Even if Colin died tomorrow, Harry would never forget him; he would be forever marked by this night. 

He smiled down at Harry and found himself relaxing as a steady stream left his cock, splashing onto Harry’s arms, chest, down his stomach and his cock and then back up to his face… he had to hit the scar. That was now his too. 

He brought the camera back around, even as the last of it left his body.

Click. Flash.

Perfect. 

He absently did a cleaning spell on Harry, and then undid his bonds, sitting on the bed, still transfixed by the body in front of him. 

Harry grabbed his clothing angrily, his hands shaking only slightly as he proceeded to dress himself. At the foot of the bed, Colin sat, still naked, with traces of blood on his thighs. 

He felt himself shaking, his eyes going in and out of focus. It felt as if he were coming down from some type of adrenaline rush, crashing back down into reality. 

What had he just done? Oh, he knew, but it still seemed surreal. What would Harry think of him now? Would he tell anyone? He had been too excited about capturing the prize to think of how it would feel about being captured or the consequences.

“Harry,” he asked. “What just happened?”

The look of disgust and loathing on his hero’s face made his stomach turn. “You know full well what just happened, Creevey,” Harry spat. 

Colin could feel something deep within him stinging, and something warm and sticky was leaking from him onto the bed and his legs… blood. “I think... maybe I need to go to the Hospital Wing or something,” he said, staring at the dark red stain spreading underneath him.

He blinked, trying process the hateful glare staring daggers into him. Harry hated him. This was all wrong, he’d got it all wrong. 

“No, you don't need to go to the Hospital Wing. Listen to me, you cowardly little bitch... you don't need sickbay. You deal with it like a man. You aren't the only one who's got problems.” 

Problems. Was that sympathy? Harry couldn’t hate him if he thought Colin had gone too far because he was troubled. There was hope yet that Harry and he could work this out. 

“Tell me we are okay, Harry,” he asked, feeling himself tense, waiting for Harry to tell him he didn’t hate him. 

He wanted to jump up and hug him when Harry said, “Yeah, sure, we are okay.” 

He was grateful, so grateful, maybe one day they could be close friends... even closer than he was to Weasley. 

“Thank you, Harry,” he said, grabbing his hand in a firm handshake. Gods, he felt so good.

Harry ripped his hand away. 

“Listen to me,” he said, with an angry strained voice. “You stay away from me, you stupid little shit, and don't you fucking dare squawk about this to anyone. I don't need this kind of hassle; I've got the war to think about right now.” 

Of course, that was the most important thing. He couldn’t agree more. He nodded furiously, feeling something like relief wash over him that Harry understood that, too. 

“All right, Harry,” he said. “I won't… won't tell anyone. I swear. Harry, you are everything to me.” 

He couldn’t really read Harry’s face; it looked angry or maybe disgusted, but maybe it was something else. 

And then he left. 

Colin picked up his camera and smiled as he thought of the new pictures he had collected. He would get to relive this moment with Harry again and again.


	5. Premonition

  
**Part 1: Premonition**  
by EmilyWaters

 

_**Time Index: Zero - 264 hours** _  


 

The Hogwarts dining hall was filled with people. Harry sat at his table, poking his meal with a fork, not meeting anyone's eyes. The feeling of utter misery grew, threatening to engulf him completely. A flash of a camera nearly blinding him, Harry shook his head resignedly, and resolved to never look up again, for as long as he was in Hogwarts. Maybe once he graduated, this would go away. 

“He's at it again,” Hermione murmured. 

“Huh?” Ron asked, placing a piece of toast in his mouth. “Creevey?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said ruefully. “But don't turn and stare, Ron. It's rude.” 

“Snapping pictures of Harry every second of the day is what's rude,” Ron muttered. “I swear, someone should teach the little prick a lesson in manners.” 

“Ron!” Hermione said sternly. “Don't you see what's going on? Colin isn't thinking clearly. He's not well.” 

“You can say that again,” Ron said, heavy on sarcasm.

Harry smiled without happiness. They've had this discussion so many times that by now it seemed they were just doing it by rote memory. 

“I think he's snapped under the pressure,” Hermione said. “I really think he's .. well, maybe a little mentally ill or something. I think he should go see Pomfrey.” 

Harry placed a piece of fried sausage in his mouth. It left a bitter trail on his tongue. 

“I think you might be onto something here,” Ron said, suddenly agreeing with Hermione. “This has gone beyond annoying, and well into insane.” 

Another flash of the camera illuminated the Gryffindor table. Harry shuddered slightly and shut his eyes. Colin Creevey's timing was impeccable, in its own way. Colin had always been on his heels, in one form or another, trying to take pictures of him, for the past six years, but lately the obsession had become completely unbearable. He was around all the time, it seemed. Harry could barely walk through a hallway, pick out a book it the library, or take a piss without Colin hovering around, ready to snap a picture of him. Harry tried hard not to think what the hell Creevey was doing with all those pictures of his. Selling them to _The Quibbler?_ Giving them out to Slytherin students to spit on? Didn't matter, Harry decided finally. They were just paper and ink, nothing more. Just pictures. 

“But would he listen to anyone?” Hermione asked, her mind already working on a plan to get Colin into the Hogwarts hospital wing. “I mean, so far, we have no reason to report him to Pomfrey, really, all he's doing is just being incredibly rude and annoying.” 

“He'd listen to Harry,” Ron said suddenly. “Harry, maybe you could talk to him... convince him he might want to check himself out in the Hospital Wing... see a mind-healer. He'd listen to you. He'll do anything you suggest.” 

Harry shuddered at the suggestion of a face-to-face talk with Creevey. He was feeling nauseous enough already, without needing that sort of image in his mind. 

“I don't think so,” Harry said tiredly. “I don't think he's sick. Just... really annoying.”

“Well, I think it's a sign of mental illness,” Hermione said confidently. “Harry, I really think you should talk to him and...” 

“Forget it!” Harry growled at her. “I'm not talking to him, and that's final.” 

Hermione took a deep breath, and spoke, patiently and reasonably,

“Harry, Colin's infatuation with you isn't healthy. You need to be on guard for that – you need to look after him, in a manner of speaking. He's younger, he's not well, he's not thinking clearly... and ... you need to be the responsible one. The strong one. Harry, are you even listening to me?” 

“Yeah, I'm listening!” Harry snapped, infuriated beyond all reason by her calm, rational approach. “I just don't care, all right? He's pissing me off, and right now, I don't give a shit about him, Hermione. I don't care if he's not well.” 

“Harry,” she protested, “he's annoying, and rude... but he's still one of ours. We need to help him. It's dangerous for him to be this unstable, and run around like this, with the war going on. What if he does something dumb? What if he gets himself killed?” 

“I should be so lucky,” Harry said bitterly, but with absolute sincerity. 

Across the table from him, Ron stared at him with concern.

“Mate, this isn't like you,” Ron said uncertainly. “You don't mean this, do you?” 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, trying to sound as amenable and apologetic as he could. “I am just... sick of all of this. Sick of the reporters. Sick of being observed and watched like an animal in a zoo every day of my life. I just want all of this to go away, you know?” 

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Harry, I know this is stressful for you...”

“Then drop the subject, please,” Harry almost begged. “I can't handle much more of this right now. Please, Hermione.” 

She nodded sadly and forced her lips into a semblance of a smile. “So, what do you want to do once the war is over, Ron?” 

Ron was sitting at the table, his chin resting on his hands, appearing to be deep in thought. Hermione's question brought him out of his revere, and he he uttered a muffled “Huh?” 

“She asked what you want to do after the war,” Harry said helpfully, allowing himself to calm down just a little bit. At least those annoying flashes of the camera were gone for now, and Colin seemed to have disappeared from his field of vision altogether.

“I want to go someplace sunny,” Ron said absently. “Maybe Australia. Or India.” 

“India sounds like fun,” Hermione said enthusiastically. “There's a huge wizarding community in Bombay, and...” 

“What about you, Harry?” The insipid, and ever-enthusiastic voice of Colin Creevey cut in. “Will you be going with them?” 

Harry groaned quietly, resisting the urge to punch the young photographer in the gut. 

“I don't really know yet,” Harry said indifferently. “First we need to win the war, don't we?” 

“Yeah,” Colin said breathlessly, eying Harry with adoration. “But you'll win the war. We know that. Don't we?” 

Hermione scrunched her face into a sour grimace. 

“Harry isn't fighting this war alone,” she said icily. “It's a team effort, you know. We are all in this together.” 

“Yes, but some players mean more than others,” Colin said, staring at Harry intently. 

“True,” Harry said grimly. “And some players hardly mean anything,” he added, with an undercurrent of danger creeping into his voice. Under the table, Ron's foot kicked his, hard. 

To Harry's surprise, Colin just laughed with delight, and said meekly, “I know that, Harry. Some are meant to make history, others can just hope to witness it, and remember it.” 

Harry winced. This wasn't going well. “Colin, look, I just want to be left alone right now, all right?” he said.

“I know, I know,” Colin assured him. “You've got a lot on your mind. You are the most important person in the world, Harry, I don't want to monopolise my time...” 

“Right,” Harry said, feeling he was losing control of this conversation completely, “so if you could please piss right the fuck off...” 

This time it was Hermione who kicked him under the table. But Colin wasn't offended at all. He just laughed again, mildly and amicably. 

“Harry, I'd just like something to remember you by, you know?” he said softly. “Just one memento is all I want.” 

“Just one?” Harry asked, fighting despair. Was it really that simple? “What do you want?” 

“Would you sign a photograph for me?” Colin asked, shoving a picture on Harry's table. Wincing, Harry stared at it. He hated seeing his own image in best of times, but this was almost unbearable. Quickly, Harry turned the photograph face down. Was it really that simple? Did he dare to hope that signing this one photograph would get Colin to leave him alone, once and for all? 

“No, not on the back!” Colin said quickly, and Harry nodded resignedly, turning the picture back up. 

“What do you want me to write?” Harry asked. 

“Anything you like, Harry,” Colin said. 

With his eyes half-shut, Harry scribbled quickly: 

_MEMENTO_

He half-expected Colin to protest, or ask for something more, but Colin just smiled with absolute delight.

“Brilliant!” Colin said.

**~~THE END~~**


End file.
